


I'd Like a Large Coke, Please

by ABeautifulSleeper



Series: McLennon McDonald's Shenanigans [1]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Fast Food, John Is a Nuisance, M/M, Metaphorical pigtail pulling, Minor Sexual Harassment, Paul Is Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABeautifulSleeper/pseuds/ABeautifulSleeper
Summary: Based entirely off a couple of ideas I had in the McDonald's drive-thru, this is the Beatles fast food AU that literally no one asked for. Contains some dumbassery that could be (and to some degree is) construed as sexual harassment, so if that's not something you're okay to read, please take care of yourselves and skip this one.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Series: McLennon McDonald's Shenanigans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199423
Kudos: 42





	I'd Like a Large Coke, Please

**Author's Note:**

> Special shout-outs to Adrian, for helping me pick out a new computer when my old one bit the dust (and souping it tf up), Colin (if you're still keeping up with my terrible writing) for listening attentively when I was explaining fanfic and not laughing at me, and Cal for proofreading and putting up with my shit, as always.

“Oi, Macca’s Macca!” called out that grating, nasally voice for what had to be the third time this week. Paul looked up from the booth where he was _trying_ to eat his lunch in peace, confirming that it was indeed that twat from the Starbucks across the street trying to get his attention from where he stood over by the order kiosk. He merely grunted in displeasure before turning his attention back to his fries. Being a vegetarian working in a fast food burger joint _suuuuuuuuuucked_ , there were only so many depressing salty salads he could be expected to take. At least let him eat his fries in peace.

“Well that’s not very good customer service, now is it?” The voice was closer. _Damn it._ “You’re meant to at least smile, you know. I’m pretty sure it’s in the employee handbook of every Macca’s from here to Timbuktu, like,” the twat continued.

“That may be so, but in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m on my lunch break, and thus not exactly beholden to the likes of you shouting at me from across the dining room,” Paul responded sullenly, taking a deep sip of his Sprite.

“‘The likes of _me_?’ I don’t know what you mean by that, my good sir. I am merely a customer, a man who simply wants to eat the best cheeseburger at the best price, trying to be friendly with the person who often supplies me with the sustenance I require to continue making coffee for the businessperson on the go and entirely too many American tourists. I’m insulted, I think,” the twat continued, plopping down across the booth from him and swiping a fry off Paul’s tray. Paul’s jaw dropped. The _audacity_ of this motherfucker!

“Right, first off, I don’t remember inviting you to sit with me, and I _especially_ don’t remember inviting you to help yourself to my _lunch_!” he seethed, pulling his tray closer to himself. “Second, I don’t need or want you to be friendly with me! Just because you can’t get through your week without a Big Mac or 4 doesn’t make us friends! Never mind that I have no idea how you figured out my surname, or why you insist upon calling me that asinine nickname. We’re not even in Australia! D’you really think I haven’t heard that stupid fucking joke at least a thousand times since I started working here? It’s not any funnier coming from you, a near-stranger, than it was coming from me mates who I happen to actually _like._ I don’t even know what your name is, you have a different name tag every time you come in here and I have no idea how you haven’t gotten sacked yet for that alone,” Paul ranted, letting out weeks of frustration all at once.

Starbucks Twat doesn’t even looked fazed, godDAMN him. “Well, Macca my love, if you wanted to know my name all you had to do was ask. Lennon, John Lennon,” he said, James Bond tone and all. “Pleased to make your acquaintance properly and all. Now, much as I’d _love_ to tell you how I learned your name, my number’s just come up and I’m afraid I’ve got to dash, didn’t exactly let Marilyn know I was taking lunch right now, and she’ll be just about ready to shit a brick if she’s noticed I’m gone. So ta for now, enjoy the rest of your _lunch_ ,” he gave Paul’s fries a look. Paul blinked and he was halfway across the dining room already, nabbing his to-go bag and sprinting back across the street, somehow not getting flattened by the double-decker full of tourists with cameras out hoping to get a shot of a royal family member. _Idiots._

Looking at his phone, he swore to himself and shoveled the last few fries in his mouth and got up to clear the booth. That moron had wasted the last of his break, and he needed to be back on the register already lest his coworker try to shank him with a plastic knife.

“I’m not sure why you haven’t just shagged him already to get him off your back,” his (former) favorite coworker George mumbled to him as he handed off the register to get back to his usual spot at the fryer.

“Because, George, I am fundamentally _not_ attracted to insufferable knobs like him,” Paul retorted. Ever since Starbucks Twat ( _John_ , his brain responded rather unhelpfully) had started working at the Starbucks across the way a little over 8 months ago, he’d been coming in almost every shift Paul worked and becoming an increasing menace to Paul’s mental well-being. First with the incessant innuendo (he’d asked Paul for a large cock instead of Coke, a devilish smirk on his face, at least once a week since the 3 month mark) and when Paul had mostly mastered his blush reflex, just with incessant chatter every time he placed an order and pestering him nearly _constantly_ about being a Macca working at Macca’s. Paul would have liked to have dumped his drink down his trousers several times over by now, but he needed this job to help pay for stuff with uni and all, and he was fairly certain that his manager wouldn’t accept the excuse of temporary insanity when it came down to it.

“Aye, maybe not, but if he’s bothering you so much and you aren’t at least a little bit interested in giving him that ‘large cock’ he’s always asking about, then why not just say so? At least tell him you’ll report him to the police as a sex pest,” George said, dumping a fresh batch of fries in baskets. Paul just sighed, either unable to reply due to having a customer approach in that moment or simply unwilling. He continued to stew in his irritation through the rest of his shift, fortunately keeping his feelings within himself and not allowing them to make him fuck up orders. It was still quite a relief to be able to clock out and begin the trip home, mind still on the altercation earlier and on George’s terrible idea for resolving the whatever it was going on between him and that absolute weirdo. Naturally, that was when he got the back of his shoe trod upon, nearly launching him forward into the intersection when he tried to step forward.

“FUCK!” he shouted, barely managing to right himself in time to avoid eating pavement for dinner. Turning around ready to absolutely lay into whatever poor sod had the misfortune to be behind him on this awful day, he had to physically restrain himself from striking the man when he saw it was John, Starbucks Twat himself, smirking at him once again. “You nearly killed me you absolute twit! Why would you _do_ that?” he practically screamed, voice going higher the more irritated he became. He didn’t even care that he was making a scene, their fellow pedestrians stopping to stare.

“Aw, love, don’t be like that,” John replied saccharinely. Paul, making up his mind suddenly, grabbed John by the wrist, causing John at least a bit of pain by the pinched look on his face, and took off decisively down the street beside the McDonald’s instead of continuing home. With a quick look both ways, he dragged John down the alleyway behind the building that was shared with a few other businesses and was sparsely populated with dumpsters and smaller bins. Letting out a bit of frustration, he shoved John’s shoulders against the unpainted brick wall to the side of a dumpster, blocking them from view of the street.

“What are you playing at? You’ve been harassing me at my job for weeks, with the sexual innuendoes and the stupid joke about my name that isn’t funny, and now today stealing my food and stepping on my shoe and nearly hurting me. Why? What the fuck do you want?” Paul asked, barely keeping from shouting or, worse, screaming.

John actually had the nerve to look contrite for once, looking down at his shoes before peering up at Paul over the rim of his glasses. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, before breathing out a sigh. Paul just looked at him incredulously. “Fuck, guess not, okay. Look, I’ve been trying to get my nerve up to try to talk to you properly, because I think you’re really attractive, but the first time I tried I ended up asking for a large cock instead of a Coke because my mouth just won’t do what my brain asks it to sometimes and you blushed so beautifully that I suddenly couldn’t stop teasing you and since I was still too scared to ask for your number for real to try to get to know you better I felt I had to settle for just annoying you to get your attention,” John rambled, slowly blushing himself now. Paul honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You’ve been menacing me for over half a year now just because you _like_ me? What are you, 8?” he asked. John was looking less and less like his usual smirking self now, his normal confidence replaced with embarrassment so strong it was practically sucking the air out of the alleyway. “And that still doesn’t explain how you found out my surname for your stupid little joke,” Paul continued.

“Er, yeah, once when I was in and you were in the back instead of at the register, I heard one of your coworkers call you by your last name when they were yelling to you in the freezer,” John mumbled, looking down again. Paul stepped back a moment, leaving one hand still on John’s shoulder, but wanting a little space to process.

“Well I guess it’s good to know you haven’t been bloody stalking me to find that out,” he mused.

“No, never, I wouldn’t do that. Didn’t want to come off as a creep, though I guess I failed on that account in the end,” John said apologetically. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other a bit, not trying to push past Paul to escape just yet, though the hunch of his shoulders and constant blinking gave away his discomfort with the situation and desire to either fight or flee. Paul was still thinking however, chewing at his plump lips as he processed.

“Don’t you think it would have just been easier to say something to me? Instead of, oh, I dunno, sexually harassing me in my place of work for months? It’s not like you’re so ugly as to get automatically rejected by most people you aren’t bullying,” Paul said.

“That would be too easy. Me, I like a challenge. ‘How to make a bloke hate you and then somehow still convince him to go to bed with you!’ That kind of thing,” John hazarded a joke. He cut his eyes up at Paul briefly, trying to gauge whether or not he was about to get punched for it. Paul could feel, much as he _really_ didn’t want to, the prickle of amusement in his chest.

“Right, well you’ve got the first part down, what’s the second part going to look like?” he responded, the words falling out of his mouth before his brain could examine them further and veto them. Internally he wanted to smack himself. How could he just give up on his anger so easily and switch over to an almost, dare he say it, _flirty_ repartee with the man who’d been razzing him for months? Externally, he put a hand on his hip and quirked his lips, upping his question from potentially flirting to _definitely_ flirting.

John, meanwhile, looking like he still halfway expected a fight, answered cautiously. “Well, if I’m honest, that second part’s still in the works, you see. Had to be totally sure you hated me first, which I think I’ve accomplished today. But I think my next step was going to be something along the lines of hiring out a singing telegram to try to woo you, and confess my feelings that way.” Paul scrunched up his nose at the thought.

“Perhaps it’s best you didn’t get that far, then. I think the singing telegram would have just incentivized me to storm across the street and hooked your ear up to the steamed milk nozzle,” he laughed. John joined him in his laughter after a moment’s pause.

“Maybe so. Would have probably been more expensive than I could afford, anyroad,” he allowed. Their laughter petered out slowly, leaving them standing rather awkwardly next to a dumpster that smelled of rotten milkshakes.

“Uh, I’m not sure about you, but I think I’d like to be getting home soon. I reek of French fries and probably dumpster now as well. I’m glad we sorted that out though, because you’ve really been pissing me off, and I don’t expect you’ll be returning to that old behaviour now, will you?” Paul asked. John shook his head, having the decency to look ashamed of himself.

“No, I won’t. Fun as it’s been, you should have seen the homicidal gleam in your eye when you dragged me down this alleyway. I figured I was done for,” he said.

Paul nodded. “Good. Well, I’m off then.” He turned to leave, and was nearly at the main road again when he turned around once more to yell back, “y’know, I probably wouldn’t say no if you were to ask me out like a normal person next time. Just saying!” And with that, he was on his way home at last, leaving John dumbfounded by the dumpster.

* * *

Two shifts had passed since their little alleyway confrontation, and Paul had seen neither hide nor hair of John since. If he was honest with himself, he was beyond disappointed. John was attractive enough when he wasn’t being annoying, and he’d actually enjoyed the wittier side of him that he’d gotten to see once he’d scared him into telling the truth. Of course when George asked him about it he only said he was relieved at no longer having to be on the lookout for John’s antics, but he had an image to uphold. Fortunately (or unfortunately), it was when he’d finally let his guard down that disaster struck.

He’d been so busy ringing up customers during the lunch rush that he didn’t notice the band come in until they were posted up right by the counter. A moment of amusement transformed quickly to a moment of confusion when they began to play, which then transformed rapidly to embarrassment when he realized they were serenading _him_.

“Macca, mi amor, though I know you’ll be sore, with me when I’ve finished this tune, I just have to say, your ass is more beautiful each day, that passes since I first saw you! I need you to know, how I love it so, when I see how you blush every time, I ask for a Coke, but I just want a poke, and onto your cock I will so gladly climb!” sang the band leader, who upon further examination was simply John wearing an ill-fitting suit with his hair pulled back in a tiny ponytail.

Paul just stood there, face blank while he waited for the short ditty to be over. John took his bows as most of the patrons clapped rather awkwardly, some amused, many confused, and some looked ready to storm out over the use of profanity. Straightening himself up, John approached the counter, nervous once more and trying to hide it behind his bravado.

“Did you like the song?” he asked, becoming more and more uneasy as Paul gave nothing away with his face.

Paul continued to stare at him a moment. “Do I look like I liked it?” he asked.

“Honestly, it’s kind of hard to tell. Your face isn’t telling me much,” John answered truthfully.

Another moment’s silence that felt like years. “Yeah, it was all right I guess,” Paul replied, the corners of his mouth slowly tipping up into a grin. “So is that the entirety of part two of the plan, or is there more?” he questioned.

“Well I guess that depends. Do you want there to be more?” John asked, scratching his head.

“I think I might. Let’s see what you can come up with,” Paul sassed back. “Now, if you don’t mind, and you’re not going to ask me out normally, I’ve got work to do.” He refocused on the customers, leaving John surprised until he shook himself off and gathered his band to leave. George, meanwhile, just shook his head at the idiocy of his coworker and his (probable) future boyfriend. Those two deserved each other.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were curious, the inspiration for this fic came from a) telling my sibling that I wanted a large cock while in the drive thru and them almost parroting that to the poor drive thru attendant and b) thinking about how McDonald's is called Macca's in Australia. I haven't decided yet if I want to continue this and let John get his large Coke, lmk if you'd like to see that.


End file.
